The time for low tide had come. Mary, though still not well from her cold was dressed for going out, a fleece jacket and black shorts. She had spent most of the day resting, but searching for sea glass has become a recent obsession, and so we set off to the nearby shore line.
The ocean had pulled further back than ever we had seen, well beyond the usual row of beach gravel; a good hundred feet further. The sandy floor had actually raised up a bit and left a pool of sea water trapped, and then further out were dozens of birds racing back and forth with the tide to snatch up sand crabs.
I crossed through the stranded pool and on to the sand that was further out, sometimes my feet sinking a foot or more in the soaked sand. I waved to Mary as I jumped up and down celebrating walking at the very spot where early morning surfers rode waves.
I turned to see the holes left by my feet in the sand were already filling up. That is the one thing about the ocean, it rounds and smooths most everything, whether it be markings in sand, or sharp pieces of beach glass. All eventually are rounded, smoothed, with gaps filled and ridges worn.
Princess and I walk close to the shore. At times an errant wave washes over my feet, I do not mind, but the water is cold. Finding glass so close to waves washing up is a bit trickier than further up the beach. I spot a glimmer of brown or green and must reach for it fast otherwise a wave will wash over it and then I try to follow it up with the tide and then keep an eye on it as the water recedes.
"Is it there?" I think.
No, I lost it.
No point in continuing to look for it. I assure myself, that just as easily as that piece is washed away, another has washed up, and I keep looking.
Today it seems warmer. A bead of sweat falls into my eyes and I use my shirt to wipe it away.
"No breeze!" I realize.
How odd that two days ago there were constant thirty mph winds that blew sand into every crack and crevice, left a fine silt covering on every flat surface, even in the house, and dunes crossing the streets. Yet now; no breeze.
Usually the breeze blows and cools off those exposed to the sun, even on the warmest days, today though, the air is still and I soak up the sun without it.
I catch up with Mary. From our pockets we pull out our new found additions to the sea glass; only a few pieces of blue, mostly brown,some green and lots of clear. No red of course.
Mary and I walk ahead. Sometimes we hold hands, but always watching out for colors in the sand.
"How could I take a picture of this and do it justice?" I ask.
"I suppose you could take it from the back of the beach." says Mary.
The problem with that idea though, is the drop off that the camera would be unable to show in a picture, and beyond that is still another fifty or more feet of sand.
If I took such a panned out picture, how could I also include the close ups of the birds and gravel edges which is where we find most of the glass?
Would the picture tell you how cold the water is as it washes over my feet?
Could one picture explain how a piece of brown glass in the right sunlight looks red, and how our heart races with excitement, until it is held up in the sunlight and is only brown?
Could one picture do all that?
Maybe this short post will.
